


The Fallen Stars

by JackBennet



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Horror, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBennet/pseuds/JackBennet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that you have to be a part of the darkness, to understand it. Rose Williams, is like an exotic new bird, in the world of the Opera Populaire. But when fate conspires to lead her to the Phantom, together they unravel the darkness and light breathing, within them both...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter-1-Insidious

This is a Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction.

Chapter One- Insidious

Art is my world. And the world is art. Do not ask me of my past, for it holds neither beauty nor joy. What matters hitherto, is that this is a new beginning.

My name is Rose, Rose Williams. I escaped from, well, my past, a year ago. My past, joyless, but full of solitude, granted me a sweet little friend and time, to work on my passions, and here I am, in the Opera Populaire, to finally live them. But here, I am just Rose, for my full name, is not mine anymore, infact, it never was.

Do you want to know how I look? I assume you do. For in today's world, people are first judged by their outward appearance, and then by what they hold inside. If you would see me, you would see a tall and slim girl, with long raven black hair, hazel green eyes, much like dainty but useless emeralds, and fair olive skin. I think I might be pleasant and exotic to your eyes. But, alas, the within differs from the without and if I must say, I wouldn't love me if I were you.

What an insidious introduction to a new beginning. I must lift my spirits and begin again. Opera houses had always held a beautiful charm for me. The yellow lighting, the red and colourful backgrounds, the wooden backstage. It's even more beautiful to now live behind the scenes of the jestful and mysterious Opera House, as the Corps de Ballet. Yes, I was a mere dancer, but not unnoticed, my talents seemed to shine no matter I tried to dull them in the crowd of the other dancers.

But I felt a satisfaction, living with the impressionable young girls, their sweet and pixie like spirits. Their little plays and joys were such a good distraction from my strange mind. My mind, a thing I was scared of, and still held dear to my heart. For it held ideas that mustn't belong to any sane girl, and dreams that rang with the purity of a girl of 8. They were intermixed now, producing a strange melody, but I didn't have any hope for them, now.

I hated some people as well, rather felt irritated by them. La Carlotta was one of them. Her bold and ugly voice, destroyed the vice and virtue of any beautiful peice she sang. It was all rather unfortunate. And another that irritated my mind, was the phantom of the Opera, itself. What a strange ghost, to ask of money! The new managers, monsier Moncharmin and monsier Fermin, were right to think the ghost's demands incredulous.

And yet, a part of me thanked the Phantom, for introducing a bit of humour in our lives. I had never seen him and yet I felt drawn to his aura. A fiend, but the devil always had his charm right? I wanted to see him. Was he really a ghost, or a man? Does he look like how people describe him to be?

I had friends too, Christine Daae and Meg Giry. I adored the latter's mother, she was quite a lady. And she always had an air of knowing more than she let on. Ah, me and my over perceptive mind.

Even Christine Daae, I supposed, had some secrets she kept to herself. She knew someone and loved him, but I didn't know who. Could it be the Phantom? Oh, how romantic that would be. I felt a ping of jealousy, now where did this come from? I was overthinking, I must buy a book and read or my empty mind would soon become the devil's workshop.

But Christine was nice. She was pure and pristine and nice. She was one of the people you'd call genuinely good, it was rare. I liked her and both the Giry's too. I liked living here.

A month later.

Sighs escaped my mouth as if I was a young lover, pining for my beloved. I felt speechless, and yet my thoughts streamed like a waterfall upon a river. I saw him! I saw the phantom, and he was beautiful. But he didn't see me, and I was glad he didn't. He had eyes for Christine, it broke my heart, and it was absurd for I barely knew him! But he was beautiful, his appearance and his aura was, and my mind seemed transfixed on him and the past events that led to this day. Rather, this bleak night.

Christine was a success. She was genius, talent and beauty. La Carlotta had stormed out of the Opera in indignation for a part of the stage backdrop had fell on her. (The Phantom's mischief) It was supposed to make the manager's realise her value, but instead, they found an amazing replacement for her. Our Christine.

That night, she was unparelleled and many girls wondered about her mysterious teacher. Raoul, Vicomte De Chagny, her childhood friend and love, was visibly entranced by her, or so my Meg tells me.

And then, she dissapeared. Our new Primma Donna, gone with the wind! And with her dissapearance followed a succession of letters, saying Christine was with her Angel of Music, and demanding that she, and not Carlotta, play the lead in II Muto, or else terrible disaster, beyond their imagination, would befall them. The managers, inspecting a lover's conspiracy, decided to do otherwise.

I was very curious about my friend, and more so about her Angel of Music. I wanted to know, wanted to know more than I did. According to rumours, she had dissapeared straight out of her room, with Raoul outside, who could do nothing. There was talk about the Phantom's magic, but I knew otherwise. I thought about the possibility of a secret passageway somewhere in the Prima Donna room. I looked for oppurtunity and when I had it, I slipped into the room.

I looked behind the curtains, underneath the carpets, knocked on walls, and yet nothing came up. I seriously started considering the Phantom's magical capabilities, when I heard a noise and looked at my morbid reflection in the mirror. Taking advantage of my tall, yet petite frame, I hid behind the curtains and slowed down my breathing, so as to not make any noise.

And behold! The mirror slid to one side and a masked man came out of it. He was, enigmatic, in the least. A white mask covered the right side of his face, and yet I found myself soaking in the details of his unhidden face. He had blue green eyes, black hair, and a muscular, yet lean frame. He seemed to excude an aura of mystery and genius and he had a rose with a black ribbon tied around it, in his hand. And most surprisingly, Madame Giry entered the room. I thought she'd be afraid to see the Phantom in the room, but she looked like she was expecting him. They conversed for some seconds in hushed tones, and he handed the rose to her. Then she left the room, as inconspicuously as she could. Now there was all but the Phantom and me, in the room. I was peeping slealthily from behind the curtains and I could not take my eye off him. Then, Oh Holy mother of God!, he looked at my side. My heart was pounding off my chest, I was sure he could hear it. I drew further back and held my breath to see him approaching towards the curtains where I was hiding. God save me, I prayed.

Then God did save me. We both heard footsteps approaching the room and La Carlotta's shrill voice. He looked towards the curtains that hid me, once again, and with a scowl on his face, left the room through the secret mirror passageway, sliding it back to it's place.

La Carlotta came and looked for something with agitation, her mouth perfume, probably, and when she couldn't find it, left the room, cursing.

I knew the mirror must be see through from behind, and I hoped to God, that the Phantom was back to wherever that passage led, and not looking through the mirror, just now. Because I had to get out and I didn't want to get caught by the irritable Spanish diva, or Madame Giry.

And so out I went. A few hours later, and here I am, contemplating his beauty and series of events that happened today.

I wondered what would happen tomorrow, when the play would be staged, with Carlotta playing the lead, and Christine being mute, much against the Phantom's wishes. He loved her, I thought, I felt a pinch of sadness. I wondered what he would do tomorrow. I really did.

(The Phantom of the Opera)

Ah, so I know had another intruder to deal with!

And what an intruder. Her looks were very, very, different. She didn't look like a Parisian, but more exotic and beautiful. There was something very brooding about her persona, and yet she looked frightened, while escaping from behind the curtain. And she should be! I now didn't know what fate she would have to suffer at my hands, but it surely wouldn't be good. No one was to know of my secret passage, and she did.

But I had other things on my mind than to think about her now...

Tomorrow would be a fateful day. A very, very fateful day.


	2. Chapter-2- A rose for a Rose

Chapter 2- A rose for a Rose.

Foreboding. That was what my days in the life as a part of the Corps de Ballet, usually began with. It wasn't necessarily a teller of some ill-starred fate awaiting me, but a foreboding that dictated the dull routine that the day would menacingly start with and end, quietly and nimbly. No, I didn't hate my job, in fact I loved it. The Opera house was a mystical place to live in, and I was thankful enough. But I did wonder, if my days would end like this, unnoticed, like a stream of water that gingerly flows through a beautiful part of the forest, without letting the beauty effect it, in the slightest manner.

But today was different. Yes, there was a foreboding, but not the typical one I dealt with. This was stronger, actually denoting my intuition towards something significant about to happen through the course of this day. I thought about the Phantom, and I felt, to my amazement, a kind of excitement. After a very long time I felt the blood flowing through my veins, which I had assumed to be replaced with soot, owing to certain events, in my past. I felt the blood go through my wrists and I felt a tingling in the tendons of my foot, which hampered my attempts to get out of bed and start the day. I was acting like a foolish juvenile, and while that thought was supposed to feign irritation towards my current behavior, I felt myself smiling. Now, I was assured that my sanity was gone. I was probably in great danger. What if the Phantom had seen me? He was a man, but men, many a times, held vicious beasts in their hearts. I murdered the smile off my face and hoped that my sanity would return to me like the prodigal son.

I wasn't actually taking part in Il Muto, but I was helping with the backdrop and scenery. Madame Giry, had once, chanced upon one of my morbid drawings. It was a figure of a skeleton dressed as a gentleman standing outside the gates of heavens. I thought that she would reprimand me for bearing an imagination that wasn't appropriate for women, much less for women my age. But instead, she, with a smirk on her face, dictated that apart from dancing, I would also help in the intricate art that was sometimes required in the fashioning of the pretty backdrops.

The day went by in a haze, watching and painting, and helping around. To any spectator, it would seem like another traditional day before a big performance. But for the ones working, it was different, somehow. There was an air of dreadful excitement. The managers pretended like nothing was out of place, but everybody wondered inside what would happen, now that the Phantom's demands had been boldly ignored. But it didn't show on their faces, for they were Parisians after all, and everyday was a masquerade for their true emotions. You had to be them, to really know them.

Il Muto was actually a humorous Opera about a wealthy countess having an affair with a mute pageboy, called Serafimo. In order to hide her affair from her husband and not earn his hatred, she makes the pageboy take up a disguise as a maid, while making a maid dress up as the pageboy. Much against the Phantom's demands, Christine was playing the mute role, while the countess was being played by Carlotta. My sweet Meg was playing the maid and the role of her husband, Don Attilo, was being taken up by Piangi.

The audience was welcomed in, the elite and the aristocrats, all shining in their false glory. The audience settled in their seats and as did the managers and the Vitcomte de Chagny, the latter sitting in the infamous Box Five. I, with the other girls and actors, and Madame Giry, watched from the side wings.

The Opera commenced. The red curtains opened followed by the audience's applause.

"They say that this youth, has set my lady's heart aflame! His lordship, sure, would die of shock! His lordship is a laughing stock! Should he suspect her, God protect her."

"Shame! Shame! Shame!"

The Opera was going well, the audience's response to the humour was generously imbued with laughter. Now was the part where the husband apparently leaves, and the maid's disguise comes undone, revealing the pageboy's identity.

"Serafimo away with this pretense!

You cannot speak - but kiss me in my husbands absence."

It was almost as if my foreboding was wrong. I tried to quiet my heart, but it seemed to spur on with it's nonsense! Why, in the face of everything that was going good and normal, did it believe that something extraordinary would happen? I set aside my thoughts and looked towards the ongoing play, again. Carlotta's voice rang shrill and high.  
"Poor fool, he makes me laugh, time to get a better, better half."

"Poor fool, he doesn't know, if he knew the truth, he'd never ever go!"

"Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?"

His voice had the affect of a glass suddenly breaking, except that instead of pulling me out of a reverie, it pulled me into one.

"He's here, the Phantom of the Opera", Meg whispered beside me.

"It's him", Christine quietly echoed on the stage.

"Your part is silent, little toad!", Carlotta spat out in disgust.

All this while I was transfixed by the sight of the Phantom. Just like in the dressing room, I could not take my eyes off him. He was standing on the circular catwalk just beneath the ceiling of the dome, which held the chandelier. His voice, which was echoing because of the acoustic structure of the dome, was grand and dangerous.

I heard him say quietly, "A toad madame? Perhaps it is you, who are the toad..." And he left through the door on the catwalk.

I felt slightly possessed, I wanted to follow him. I turned to go but Meg tightly held my wrist. "Oh, Rose, it's dangerous, you must stay here!", she said with consternation and fear. I controlled my senses and turned my eyes to the stage. Carlotta had returned to the stage after her fill of her mouth perfume, she so profusely used.

"Serafimo, away with his presence!"

"You cannot speak but kiss me in his...croak!"

A hideous croak had escaped her mouth. The audience was laughing, and Carlotta seemed astonished. But she visibly composed herself and tried again.

"Poor fool he makes me laugh, croak, croak, croak!"

"Mother!", Carlotta screamed with agony and ran off the stage. The audience was convulsing with laughter. The managers, inexperienced, were absolutely confused with the situation. The curtains were closed and the managers, announced that the the Opera would commence again in ten minutes with the role of countess being played by Miss Daae. Meanwhile, they asked the audience to enjoy the ballet from Act Three of that night's Opera.

Meg, at once, ran to ready herself for the ballet. I tried to help set up the scene with the others, as fast as I could. The curtains were drawn and amidst the confusion, the ballet began. The audience had never seemed to be in a more jestful mood.

I really felt possessed. I was burning inside with questions, questions about the Phantom, his relations with Christine. I had, after Christine's return, tried to pry some information out of her, but she remained dismissive and reclusive. I was just trying to steady myself and stay where I was when it happened. The body of Joseph Buquet came flying out from above, his neck strangled by a strange lasso that reminded me of something. He convulsed for a few minutes and then his body turned as limp and lifeless as a rag doll.

This was it. I don't know what happened to me then, but I acted out of an impulse that I thought I had buried long ago. I knew I had to see the Phantom. He had killed, but why? I had heard some girls retelling the tales that Joseph Buquet had told them about the Phantom's hideous and monstrous face. Would I have to suffer that terrible fate too, because I knew one of his secrets? That question alone should have stopped me in my tracks and made me do the rational thing, like hiding in a place where he wouldn't find me. But no, I wanted to see him, and the why to that question didn't have any answer then.

Total chaos had ensued upon Joseph's hanging and the poor little girls were screaming about and running like rabbits. Madame Giry was unsuccessfully trying to quiet them. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Raoul running behind Christine, the latter seemed scared out her wits and the former was trying to reassure her about something. They were upon the staircase now, going towards the balcony. I felt concerned about Christine. It was then that my mind made the connection. The door, on the catwalk, through which the Phantom had dissapeared led to a back entry towards the balcony. What if he tried to kill Christine? I knew another back entry to the balcony, it was through the dilapidated staircase near my room. It was both, the concern for Christine, and the urge to see him, that I found myself taking the secret path I knew, towards the balcony. I entered the balcony as stealthily as a cat, and hid behind one of the gargoyles. It was then that I saw the Phantom, he was standing behind a big black sculpture. I thanked the Providence, that he had not seen me. I now saw Christine and Raoul, too. The Phantom was hidden from them, and I from the Phantom.

Christine was singing about the Phantom, about the endless night he lived in, about his disfigured face. I looked at the Phantom, and I wondered about the masked part of his face. Could it really be as bad as Christine described it to be? Then she sang about his magical voice, and the effect he had on her spirit. I had no doubts about the magic that he held with him, he was entrancing, even to a stranger like me, who had only watched him from the shadows.

The night took another turn, Christine and Raoul began singing of summertime and the sweet love they held in their hearts. They were like a dream, such flawless young lovers. They confessed their love for each other and kissed. I could feel the Phantom's gloom pervading the air, but the couple seemed oblivious to it, lost in their own little world. They left the balcony, making plans about their merry future together.

The Phantom left his hiding place. I straightened up but he too was oblivious, lost in his dark and forbidden world, perhaps. He walked up to the rose with the black ribbon on it, that Christine had dropped and picked it up. It was then that I heard his beautiful voice. I couldn't make out the words but just the melody and his strange and haunting voice. He was singing in heartbreak and my heart was breaking with his. I, in a trance, started walking towards him. It wasn't until I was just beside him that he noticed me. He got up and faced me. It seemed that he was in a trance too. I saw tears on his face. We were both strangers, and he was a killer too, but nothing mattered in that moment. I was empathizing with him and he was soaking in my empathy. I extended my hand to dry his tears, and I touched his face. The trance broke. The previous roles we had assumed, got lost in the cold wind, and the reality was exposed. He was a killer, the Phantom of the Opera, and I was his prey, a foolish girl, who had dared to follow him twice. I felt his rage and heartbreak directed right towards me. He drew out his sword and my feet took me towards the edge of the balcony. The possibility that he was just trying to scare me, didn't enter my mind and I was cowering like a baby bird stuck in a blizzard. He flew towards me and grasped my hair tightly. I cried out in pain but his leathered hand muffled my voice. He drew the sword to my neck. He grasped me tightly from behind. Terror gripped me. I didn't want to die. He was facing the outer edge and his grasp only tightened. I prayed to God and started struggling violently against him. It threw him off balance and whatever happened next was a blur, yet seemed sluggishly slow to me. It was as if time, itself, had slowed down. My struggle tipped him off balance and he was tipped off the balcony. My sharp reflexes helped me then, and my hands gripped on to the sword he was holding before he could be completely thrown off. Unbearable pain shot through me but I had to hold on for his sake. When he realized what I was doing, he gripped the handle of the sword with his other hand as well and I put whatever strength that I had in my reserve, to pull him up. The blade cut deeper into my hands but I let the tears soundlessly fall out of my eyes. The pain was indescribably excruciating and yet I held on. Deeper so that my hands wouldn't slip through all the blood. When he was at level with the edge, he let go of the sword and helped himself upward. I was thrown a bit backward but I steadied myself. I let go of the sword and looked at my hands. There were big grotesque gashes across both of my hands. They were bleeding profusely, and normally the sight would have nauseated me, but I was too dizzy and entranced to feel anything else. I felt so weak. I looked at him and saw that he was staring at me with astonishment, as if he couldn't believe what I had just done for him. He moved towards me, until he was inches away from me. Even I couldn't believe what I had done for him. What emotion lay behind these actions? Slowly I felt my thoughts scattering away, like dandelions in the wind and I saw stark blackness appear in front of my eyes. My knees lost all their strength, and I collapsed. Yet, I didn't feel the impact. A hand was supporting my head. I turned my eyes and saw that the Phantom was kneeling beside me, his eyes full of concern. Concern? The Phantom? I turned my head away again, I felt delusional and weak, and saw the rose lying beside me. I extended my hand, which was still bleeding heavily, and picked up the rose. It was beautiful. I closed my eyes and the darkness took me in it's abode.


	3. Chapter-3 Savior

Chapter 3- The Savior

Erik.

I had never felt such anguish, upon seeing Christine confess her love for Raoul. He was bound to love her, but she? She had betrayed her Angel of music. She had rejected him. I had always thought that hatred and love were contrasting emotions, but now I felt them fuse inside my heart. It was painful, it was beguiling. Yet my tears didn't stop.

I looked at the rose in my hands. She had discarded it, just as she had discarded my love for her. It was one of those moments when sorrow takes over your composure, your body, your heart, your soul and everything loses its substantiality.

I had not heard her approach. I was lost in my woe when I had felt a presence beside me. I looked up and saw that it was the girl who had intruded upon me, before. She looked angelic and alluring, her black hair seemed to mold into her black cape. Her big exotic eyes, the color of dark foliage and her dark red lips upon her angular face appeared like they had been beautifully painted by an old master.

But it was not so much as her beauty, but her soul, that entranced me. She was looking at me, with a strange emotion seeping through her eyes. What was it? Love? Empathy? But whatever it was, it comforted me like hearthside being provided to a man dying of the cold.

Her hand reached out and touched my face.

That action of hers was all it took to draw me away from my entranced state. She was an intruder, one who was aware of my secret passage! And she had dared to follow me twice. This little bird had to be done away with. I wouldn't kill her, but I would twist her feathery neck to the extent where she would not to be able to even sing of my existence.

She tried to flee but I grabbed her and pulled her towards me. Her reaction was instant. Whatever foolish trance she had been in before, was now severed as well. She looked at me like a prey looks at his predator just before it's about to be devoured. I felt a sting inside my heart, and it perturbed me. But I turned a blind eye to it and strengthened my grasp on her. Her attempt to shriek was stifled by my hand. She was now cowering out of fear. There, that stinging again. What was upon me? I scorned at myself internally. I placed the sword upon her neck and settled my other hand on her waist, so that she would not be able to escape. I saw the pure horror in her eyes. I was sure that she believed that I would completely obliterate her. She started struggling stormily. I had not noticed that we were on the edge of the balcony, with me facing the outer side. Her struggling upset my balance and I stumbled off the edge. In a flash I realized that I was going to die. But then I realized that I wasn't falling. I looked up and saw that she was holding on to my sword tightly to prevent my demise, the same sword with which I had imperiled her life. I clutched the sword with my other hand as well and she began to pull me up. She was clutching the sword hard, so that it wouldn't slip through all the blood which had already begun to ooze out of her hands. I could not even imagine to fathom the torment that she must be bearing at that moment, to save my hideous life. At last she managed to pull me up and I let go of the sword. She stumbled a bit backward from all the effort, while I pulled myself up. She let go of the sword and looked at her hands. I looked at her hands. The wounds were monstrous, the sight itself was howling with torment and agony.

But I couldn't swallow the fact that she had gone through such peril to save a man who had threatened her existence, just moments before? Her fear of me had been real, I could affirm that without a pinch of skepticism. But so had been that strange emotion in her wild eyes, when she had reached out for me in my sorrow, without even considering the consequences to which she could possibly expose herself to. I felt a warmth settle inside my heart, like a fire melting the blizzard inside of me. Who was she? But importantly, what was she? Such an absurd yet fantastic creature that I couldn't even begin to comprehend. Whatever she was, I couldn't lose her now.

The fire that she had lit inside of me began to burn me with concern. She looked as pale as death, her tears were drying on her cheeks, which was evidence of the malady that she had endured. She had lost a great amount of blood, she had probably cut deep enough to injure the veins inside of her palms. She looked delusional and fragile. I was startled by the intensity of fear that I felt for her life.

Her knees gave away and she started to collapse. I rushed towards her and put my hand underneath her head before it could hit the ground. She looked at me but there seemed to be no emotion in her eyes. Was she dying? No, I couldn't let her meet her doom like this. I felt truly anxious now. She was looking at something else now. It was the rose that I had gifted to Christine. She reached out her hand and picked it up. She admired it dreamily. Then, like a falling star she closed her eyes and streamed into oblivion.

My senses returned. I needed to save her and I needed to act, expeditiously. I tore away a part of my cape and enveloped her hands in it, as firmly as I could, in order to curtail the bleeding. Her dress was cold from the snow. I rested my hand on her forehead and the exposed region of her neck, and realized that she was flaming with fever. I quickly secured her cape around her dress and then mine too, so as to not leave any part of her unprotected. I then picked her up and she seemed as light as a feather.

I had no time to misspend. With her hands tightly bundled around her center, I clenched her body to mine, firmly, and dashed as swiftly and nimbly as I could, to my lair. There was no other place to take her. Her condition would not gather as much uproar, as my masked face would. Together we would be an indescribable mayhem, if anyone chanced upon us. I could not use the entrance of the Prima Donna room, so I had to use another one. This Opera house was my playground, I was aware of hidden passages, trapdoors in places that no one could even think of. Not even the plethora of doltish managers that were appointed to this Opera house. There was a room near a dilapidated staircase that led to the balcony, probably the one she had used to infringe upon me. In that room, there was a cupboard that had a secret entry to one of the tunnels that led to my shady lair. I seldom used it but today that cupboard was imperative to her, and in succession, to me.

Gratefully, there was no one inside the room. I opened the spacious cupboard, which was replete with some maiden's clothing. I slid my hand to the inside wall of the cupboard and pulled the secret lever, which metamorphosed the wall into a sliding entryway which led to the covert tunnel. I pushed us through the clothes and entered into the tunnel. The tunnel was dark and dingy, as I had never bothered to use it. After travelling through it, for some moments, we finally reached my lair. It was alight and adequately warm, I dearly hoped that it would provide her ailing body with some warmth. I laid her gently down on the bed, on which previously Christine had rested. I had assumed that even thinking of Christine would bring pain to my soul, but my anguish for the girl was so engrossing that I hardly felt any inkling of torment, within me.

I unwrapped her hands and saw that the bleeding had presumably curtailed, but only slightly. It was still difficult to discern that fact completely. I found some white satin cloth and enveloped her wounds in that. The white cloth would make it easy for me to figure out the extent of her bleeding. Her dress was now smeared with blood, defiled and cold. She needed to be changed, but I couldn't do it myself, I needed help. I quickly took off the wintry capes from her and wrapped her up in warm and fresh blankets. She nestled herself unconsciously in a womb like position.

Again, I had no time to misuse, I hurried off into the tunnels. I required Mme. Giry's assistance. Fortunately, it was the time when she paid a visit to my Box Five, and I knew I would find her there.

Her demeanor dictated that she was furious with me. She knew that I was capable of killing, but the fact that had I created such furor and left the half of the Opera house witless and scared was an inexcusable fact for her. But I had no time to elucidate the facts to her. I clutched her hand and led her through the passageway in the Box Five, into the lair.

Upon seeing the corpse like form of the girl, her fury knew no bounds. She drew me into a corner and vehemently asked for an explanation. Once I had illuminated her with the gravity of the situation, she understood that she too, must act fast, and leave the reprehension for another time.

I had arranged for bandages, a fresh dress, and a needle to stitch back her wounds. Mme. Giry unclasped her hands, and proceeded to clean her wounds. The bleeding had lessened positively, but she had still lost a good amount of blood. She would need to be revived once her wounds had been taken care of. Mme Giry and I, then, started working upon the stitches. Her wounds were quite deep, and I felt miserable upon seeing her catastrophe. I inserted the needle into her skin and she moaned quietly in her sleep.

Once we were done, Mme. Giry motioned me to give them some privacy. I did as I was instructed.

After some moments, I found Mme. Giry by my side.

"The girl's fever has subsided, but now she is as cold as death. I must go, but you will treat her with some ale and try to revive her. I hope you have some sensibility left, to realize that she almost gave up her life for you, for those wounds, if had not been treated in time, would have surely led her to her demise. She isn't a threat to you, Erik, and you will treat her kindly!", with those stern words, Mme. Giry proceeded towards the tunnels alone, for she knew her way back, quite well.

When she was gone, I approached the girl. I had forgotten to ask Mme. Giry about her name. Well, she must answer that question herself. I would take care that she retrieved her health back, within the night, to do so. I drew some ale into a glass and went towards her morbid form on the bed. I felt an instinctive need to protect her, to comfort her. It wasn't like I felt that it was my duty to, since she had saved me, but because of what I had seen in her eyes, that strange emotion, the way she had endured such torment and that too, to save someone who had imperiled her own life! What did she see in me? She herself seemed like a mystery, such an exotic and beautiful girl. Many girls were beautiful, but most of them were like empty machines, with nothing of substance, inside. But she had a heart and a soul, and you could see it distinctly in her vivid eyes.

I lifted her head up and drew the glass up to her lips. Her lips parted slightly and I made her drink the ale. Some colour appeared in her cheeks. I felt relieved.

The hours passed by. I had made her drink some more ale, and her body was warm now. She was presumably getting better.

I was looking at her from a distance when she cracked open her eyes. She took in her surroundings and looked at her hands and dress. Then she looked around and her eyes landed on me. I could not discern her expression then, she appeared to be remote. I walked up to her.

"Thank you", she said, glancing at her hands. But as soon as she had uttered those words, she drew her breath and started coughing.

I filled her glass with water and made her drink it. She looked at me with those dainty eyes, and they unnerved me, it was as if she was trying to see through me.

"You incredulous girl", I said, feigning irritation. "If it was not for me and my madness, you would not have gotten those wounds in the first place."

"But I had followed you", she quietly interjected, looking down.

I put my finger under her chin and drew her face up. The action made her blush and she continued to keep her eyes down, concealed from me. I felt fascinated by her as a little boy is fascinated by a beautiful flower.

"And you shall tell me properly why you did what you did", I asserted in all seriousness, "but not now."

"For now you will rest after telling me your name."

"Rose", she spoke softly, never looking up.

"Rose?"

"Just Rose."

Her face had hardened up and I wondered why. Did she have no identity? She must have one. The mystery that she carried around with herself, had thickened considerably, now. What could a petite girl like her, possibly hide?

"You will stay the night here, Rose. Longer, if your condition commands it. If you need me, call out to me, I am just on the other side of this accursed abode and I shall come."

I turned to leave.

"I can't tell you."

I turned to face her. She was staring at me, then, and her glare, slightly confused yet frighteningly bold, might as well have belonged to a demon's.

"Can't tell me what, Rose?"

"I can't tell you why I followed you, because I do not know myself."


End file.
